


Too Early in the Morning and Too Late at Night

by useyourlove



Series: Season 10 - The Doggett and Reyes Files [2]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Kid Fic, Married Couple, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 03:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/useyourlove/pseuds/useyourlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reyes gets back from a stakeout at an ungodly hour and Doggett helps her relieve some tension.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Early in the Morning and Too Late at Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mosymoseys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosymoseys/gifts).



> This sat unfinished on my hard drive for months, so I figured I'd pull it out and finish it for the 20th Anniversary, as a gift to the lovely person who finally got me to watch S8 and S9. Technically, this takes place after the virtual season 10 and the two-ish fake movies that we have all plotted out but un-written, so this will probably only make sense to the two of us. Basically: this is set now-ish (2013), Doggett's an AD, Doggett and Reyes are married (and have been for many many years), and they have a six-year-old daughter. This work is mildly smutty, but not like hardcore porn (because I just wasn't feeling the smut-fic language this morning.) Pretend I posted this on the 10th. Enjoy!

"Mm, good morning," John said, patting Monica's hand where it rested against his chest. She had crawled into bed and wrapped herself around him, pressing her cheek against his shoulder blade. "Have a good stakeout?"

"Mmph," she groaned in tired incoherence, holding him close.

"Torri missed you last night."

"If Torri missed me at all it was because you reminded her I existed," she joked.

He tried to roll over but she wouldn't let go. He grunted.

"No," she said, her voice pouty like their daughter's when she didn't get her way. "Stay like this."

"Did you eat?"

"Yeah, some crap takeout. When do you go to work?"

"What time is it?"

"I don't know. Five or something."

"Soon then."

Monica grumbled in protest. She nuzzled her nose against his spine, his skin sticky with sleep and hers sticky with the lack of it. She breathed him in and clutched him tight.

"You gonna hold me hostage?" he asked, trailing his fingertips along the inside of her forearm just lightly enough to tease. She squirmed, shivering against the chills of memory and desire that she knew he was purposefully playing with.

"Maybe."

"The FBI might have something to say about that; holding one of their own hostage."

"They'll get over it." She kissed wherever her mouth landed, soft at first--long, warm, and lingering, and just wet enough to tease. It was his turn to squirm.

"Monica--"

She moved, excavating herself from his broad back and setting up to mine his neck, his shoulders, the curve of his spine. She trailed her lips along his shoulder, her nose bumping his neck before she ever so lightly scraped her teeth against his flesh. He moaned, flipping quickly and capturing her lips with his, his hands snagging her wrists to hold _her_ captive. He delved his tongue into her mouth, their easy pace warm and comfortable. His kiss was more home to her than the house. It was John that made her tranquil; John that made her feel safe. His lips were more soothing than meditation, his hands better defense than a gun. She smiled against his mouth and felt him smile back even as he kissed her. The night's tension melted out of her.

"I'm ex _haus_ ted," she lamented when they finally broke away.

"You started it," he said, resting his forehead against hers. Third eye, right? Third eye to third eye--he had learned that a long time ago. He sometimes felt as if he could see straight into her mind and she into his.

He let go of her wrists to let his hand run lower--waist, hips, tugging at the button of her blue serge pants. "Torri," Monica said in protest. She had to have heard Monica get home--even if it was five-whatever in the morning.

"Torri won't come in," he whispered in her ear, lightly dropping a kiss in the soft hollow below it. "She won't."

"She always does."

"She won't. This is our time. She knows that."

 _Knows_ , he said. Knows. Torri could feel it, was what it was. She could read the energies of a room--of a whole house--with such deft precision that it was scary. It had been scary when she was a kid--no more than a baby--but she was even more attuned now. More adept. She _knew_ things, John liked to say. She was just perceptive. But it was more than that. He'd never admit it--he hadn't even during that whole fiasco three years ago--but it was more. No, Torri wouldn't come in.

His fingers trailed down her body, peeling away the rumpled layers of stakeout suit. The jacket first. She shrugged her way out of that. The buttons on her shirt next. He carefully undid them, dropping a lingering kiss after each one as he trailed down to her waistband--the very last button on her person--and undid it with a careful, haunting kiss in its place.

He crouched lower, huddling between her feet and pulling on the hem of her pants. She undid the zipper and they slid off--him grinning like the Cheshire Cat the entire time in the early morning half-light from the window.

"Hurry up and shut up, John," she said.

"I thought you were ex _haus_ ted?"

"Right. I am. So you do all the work."

He cocked his head in surrender then reached up and hooked his fingers under the waistband of her panties, dragging them torturously down her legs. Freed from her body, he set them aside carefully and kissed the insides of both ankles for good measure before sluggishly working his way back up.

John trailed his fingers along her thigh, inching higher and higher, swirling elaborate patterns delicately into her skin. It drove her crazy. He _knew_ it drove her up the wall. The shit-eating grin on his face was more than enough to let her in on the joke. She writhed beneath him and he moved his hand higher to appease her, his palm chaffing heavily against her skin, closer, closer-- _almost_ \--before detouring her mound altogether and resting against her stomach.

"I _am_ armed," she said.

"Not anymore," he replied, dusting her belly with kisses.

"It's both too early in the morning and too late at night for this," she said. He dipped his fingers lower, running them just at the top of her inner thigh. His touch sent shockwaves through her body.

"Yeah? What do you think I should do about that?"

"Stop, John," she said. "Just," she grunted, hooking her leg around wherever she could reach. "Just fuck me. I need it."

He settled himself over her, his face just out of her reach of her lips. She reached up to kiss him but he pulled back and she snapped her teeth where his nose would have been. He laughed.

Monica closed her eyes and ignored him.

He seemed to take that as a challenge.

She lay immobile, eyes closed, face straining not to smile while he nipped and sucked and caressed.

" _Okay_ ," she finally said. "Okay. Just take off your damn clothes already."

He grinned, tugging at his boxers haphazardly until Monica saw them gliding through the air to land out of sight on the floor.

He settled himself above her, hovering. She tilted her chin upwards, offering herself up with a smile and he kissed her soundly, nipping at her lip as he pulled back.

John delved a finger inside of her, the warmth and wetness of her overpowering enough to make him shiver. She grinned at him, her own hands searching, finding his length and guiding it towards her entrance.

"Come on," she said. "I'm too tired to play."

With a kiss to the end of her nose, he pushed inside. Monica sighed, closing her eyes once more. She always had to command him whenever she wanted him to start things. It was so endearingly John.

"John," she breathed, her voice urging him on. He began to move.

He reveled in her, even at the asscrack of dawn still covered in the grime of an all-night stakeout. The rhythm of his body felt akin to worship. She moaned softly beneath him and he kissed her cheekbones, her nose, her forehead. His fingers joined his ministrations and he welcomed the delicious sensations that coursed through his body when she jerked against him, wrapping both her legs tightly around his waist, her own urgency enough to overcome her exhaustion as she moved with him.

"John," she said, muffled in his neck. "John, John," she whispered it in his ear. "Oh," she said. "There, please, yes, _John_."

Their pace was slow, lacking urgency and calm. Monica tilted her head back, her neck exposed in ecstasy. He let his forehead fall against the crook of her shoulder. Urging, but not urgent, they brought each other to the brink.

She cried out first, her limp body receptive and begging for release. He followed soon after, spilling inside her with a deep throaty moan.

"Monica," he whispered into the kiss he laid against her neck. He rolled off, spooning around her in a cocoon of contentment.

They lay there, breathing easily; Monica drifted just around the edge of sleep. She laced her fingers with John's and let herself rest--mind, body, soul. She felt rejuvenated by his warm hands and even heartbeat thumping steadily against her. John was like stealing an unscheduled break from the rest of the hectic world.

"Torri's coming," John said into the silence, nuzzling at her shoulder and sitting up to pull on his shorts. He tossed her her panties and his work shirt from the day before. She pulled them both on, leaving the shirt open as she sat enticingly on the bed, bare flesh exposed as she waited for him. He knelt on the bed with a sly grin, reaching out to button only the most necessary buttons. He liked the way she looked in his clothes.

Monica didn't even hear the girl's feet on the floor for another five minutes, padding softly down the hallway in what she must have thought was a quiet way. John would never admit how much of Torri's _knowing_ came from him, but Monica had realized long ago--years ago, decades even--that it was a hell of a lot.

The door cracked open and Torri's light brown eyes peeked through. Monica saw her and grinned. Torri grinned back, rushing through the door and leaping onto the bed. She buried herself in her mother's arms, knocking both of them back against the pillows.

"Mama!" she cried jubilantly. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, baby," Monica said, nuzzling her nose into the girl's dark hair.

"Did you catch the bad guy?"

"I did."

"Good. Daddy said you would."

"Did he?"

"He said you were the best at catching bad guys. He said you were better than him."

Monica smiled at John, as Torri plopped a wet kiss against her cheek. The girl pulled back, propping herself up on her mother's shoulders. Her brow furrowed and her lips pouted. She sat up, one hand on Monica's cheek and the other on John's, pushing them together.

"What, Squirt?" John said.

"Kiss," she said.

"What?" he asked again, his voice high with mock indignation.

"Kiss, kiss," she said again, pushing insistently with all her childish strength.

John sat up, playing the game, gently shoving Torri away until she fell off of her mother's lap entirely, hogging Monica all to himself. He kissed her softly, lips barely touching as their daughter wrinkled her nose.

"Kiss better," Torri commanded from the sidelines.

Monica grinned, poking her chin into the air and offering her lips for better access. John threaded his fingers through her hair and kissed her well. Monica wrapped her arms around him, pulling closer, letting herself moan as she delved her tongue into his mouth, kissing him more than he was kissing her. She wouldn't let him go; she held his head when he tried to pull back, tasting, breathing, loving, kissing, kissing. When he finally got free she stretched up to plant a peck on the tip of his nose. They couldn't stop grinning.

"Was that good enough, hellion?" John asked, flopping back down on his pillow.

Torri sighed contentedly, her face all alight, and buried herself between them. "I love you," she said to the room at large. "I love love." She threaded her arms through her parents' elbows and closed her eyes.


End file.
